The Voyeur Next Door

by Airicka Phoenix

  She fumbled with the strap running lengthwise across her chest, but said nothing. I wasn’t sure there was anything for her to say. She had every right to be furious.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  My gaze went to her jaw, to the soft, pale skin of her throat. I saw no bruises, or marks, but that meant nothing. I would never forgive myself if I hurt her.

  Ali shook her head. “You didn’t. I’m really okay,” she promised. “But I have to go.”

  What could I do except move aside and let her leave? I stayed rooted to the spot long after the click of her sandals faded through the garage and out the doors.

  Christ, what a mess.

  I dragged my exhausted bones home well after six and practically crawled into the shower. The warm jets rinsed away the grime and grit while pounding against my throbbing muscles. I would have stayed there forever if I hadn’t been expecting a phone call in mere minutes.

  Dressed, I padded into the living room in search of the phone. I had spent the better part of my spare time righting my apartment. Most of the boxes had been emptied out. My things had new homes. I had finished my bedroom, the bathroom, and parts of the kitchen, but kept struggling with the sitting area.

  It wasn’t because I had a whole lot of stuff, but no matter how I fiddled and twisted, my furniture refused to fit. The room wasn’t large enough for my single sofa, love seat, and armchair and I had nowhere else to put them. So they sat in odd angles while I decided what to do with them.

  Lifting the phone off the coffee table, I wandered my way to the terrace doors and I slumped into the glass. The drapes kept the cold at bay, but I still felt a slight chill seeping off the window and through my clothes. I leaned my head back and shut my eyes.

  It was Ali’s face I saw behind my closed eyelids. It was her mouth and her scent and the way she trembled in my arms when I touched her. The front of my sweats tightened as my need for her blossomed to a thrum of pain. I took the source of my agony in hand through the worn material of my pants and stroked languidly, eyes still closed. My breath came out in jagged pants as my body built much too quickly and my release surged up in a sudden rush that had me scrambling to untangle my cock from my pants. Thick, white ropes burst from the top and splattered across the floor before I could even groan in relief.

  “Shit!” I gasped, slumping back against the doors, my knees too weak to support me.

  Shame singed my cheeks with heat. I couldn’t believe I had come so fast. For Christ sakes, I was thirty-five years old, not some horny teenager. I had stamina and more finesse than that usually. Yet the mere thought of Ali and I was once again reduced to a mere fraction of myself.

  My eyes opened and I flicked a glance at the clock. It sat stubbornly at six fifty-eight. The phone was quiet in the hand not stuffing a limp cock back inside my pants.

  I felt dirty and cheap. But more than that, I felt like an utter pervert. That was the third time thoughts of Ali had made me come. The third time the climax had hit me like a punch in the gut. I hated myself a little more each time. But it also strengthened my resolve that I needed my new neighbor. I needed to get Ali out of my head.

  I pushed away from the window and shuffled off to clean up my mess. The phone never left my grasp, not even when I went to grab myself a bowl of cereal.

  It rang.

  My gaze jumped to my watch.

  Exactly seven.

  My heart rocketed in my chest with excitement. But I waited the mandatory five rings before picking up.

  “Hello.”

  There was a quiet exhale on the other end and it made me wonder if she thought I wouldn’t answer.

  “Hi,” she whispered, and the small, wariness in her voice cut at me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She was silent.

  I counted each second she didn’t speak. Then every minute.

  “I had a long day,” she whispered at last. “Stuff at work mostly and I’m helping a … friend with a school project, so I haven’t been sleeping much.”

  My heart wrenched at the misery echoing between us. I hated that I couldn’t gather her up into my arms and make her hurt stop. All I could do was abandon my cereal and make my way to the terrace. I kept the drapes firmly over the glass, but rested a hand on the frame like that could somehow bring me closer to her.

  “Go out on your veranda,” I told her.

  I heard the faint whisper of sheets and momentarily imagined her on her bed, clad in nothing but her robe and panties. I could have been wrong, but I really liked that picture.

  There was a click and the squeak of hinges being forced to open. Then I heard a chuckle.

  “I haven’t been out here since Friday. I have no idea what my neighbors have done in my absence.”

  “Do you watch them often?”

  “Every night if I can,” she said honestly. “It’s like my sitcom, which actually reminds me.” She paused. “Do you think we could move our calls to eight?”

  I laughed. “Eight?”

  “Yeah, everyone gets home at seven and I don’t want to seem like I’m ignoring you.”

  I shook my head, still chuckling. “You can watch them while we talk, but only for an hour. After that, you’re mine.”

  “Oh!” Her breathy whisper rippled through me and tightened in my pants. “I can live with that.”

  “Are you watching them now?”

  “Yes.”

  I turned and settled my back against the frame. “Tell me about them.”

  “Really?”

  The excitement in her voice made me smile.

  “Yeah.”

  My head turned in the direction of the doors and the thick curtains keeping her from me and I fought not to break my own rule. The fingers not clutching the phone to my ear twitched and reached for the fabric hanging at my side. It would be so simple to steal a peek. It was impossible not to when I knew she was right there.

  “The first window is a man and his not daughter,” she began. “For the longest time, I thought he was her father,” she explained, laughter in her voice. “Until he started fucking her against the window one night.”

  My eyebrow lifted. “Did you like it?”

  “No.” She sighed. “I was stunned the first five minutes, then disturbed for the rest of it. I stopped watching and they never did it again. Plus, he’s sixty and she’s like eighteen.”

  “Interesting,” I mused.

  “I don’t judge,” she went on. “But he reminds me of Santa Claus. Between that and her being so young…”

  I chuckled. “I get it.”

  “Plus, he has a thick, gross beard.” She made a gagging sound. “I’m not a fan of facial hair. I mean, I like a nice, neat stubble, but not a full on beard.”

  Rolling my tongue over my teeth, I rubbed at the thick carpet covering my own jaw. The damn thing itched like a motherfucker, but I kept it because I was too lazy to shave. Truthfully, I hadn’t had a reason to.

  “Don’t like beards, huh?”

  “Not really,” she said automatically. “My boss has one and it drives me nuts. Do you have one?”

  I bit back my laugh. “Tell me about the rest.”

  I listened as she went on, describing each window around me. I hadn’t met my new neighbors, but with her in depth description of each one, I may as well have. What I loved most was her enthusiasm and the sound of her voice as the sadness that had been clasped around it dropped away. Her delight made me want to stay there and listen forever.

  “I can’t see the other floors,” she finished. “But my regulars keep me entertained just fine.”

  I opened my eyes and started across the almost organization of my apartment. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I was hungry, but it could wait.

  “It’s eight.” I heard the quiet click of her doors shutting. “I’m yours.”

  My groan of pleasure at those words rumbled in my chest. It was torture just how badly I wanted her, how badly I wanted to be there, sitting on the edge of her bed,
waiting for her when she closed those doors. I would draw her between my knees and slide her robe off to bury my face between her breasts. The whole scene was beautiful in my mind with the buttery gold sunlight spilling through the glass behind her, ghosting over her bare skin. For some godforsaken reason, she had Ali’s mouth and it was curved in a grin as I pulled her down to me.

  “Q?”

  I blinked and cursed myself for thinking of Ali when I should have been focused on the woman on the phone.

  “Did you pick a name?”

  “Yes!” she said with an excited laugh. “I thought about it and it took forever. But I went online and did a search of some names and finally found one I really like.”

  “And?” I coaxed when she went quiet.

  “Aoife.” She paused, maybe waiting for me to comment, maybe for affect. “She was a warrior princess who was conquered by the hero, Cúchulainn. But he promised to spare her life on the condition that she, well, cease the war, but also to spend the night with him and give him a son.”

  “That is an interesting choice,” I mused, feeling myself grin.

  She sighed. “Yeah, but he leaves her and later kills his own son.”

  “Are you sure that’s the name you want?”

  “Yes.”

  I shrugged. “All right then.”

  “Do you like it?”

  I pushed away from the doorframe and wandered my way towards the kitchen for food. I decided against cereal. It was too crunchy and I didn’t want to be munching into her ear while we talked. Instead, I settled on a peanut butter and jam sandwich.

  “I do,” I answered her while I wrestled the jam jar open. “It’s unique.”

  “I originally thought Rosie, because it’s my middle name, but it’s so common and I’ve never heard Aoife before. Plus, I love how it’s spelled A-o-i-f-e, but is pronounced Eeefa.”

  “I like Aoife,” I assured her. “Did you think any more about what we talked about?”

  Sandwich in hand, I walked back to the living room and sat on the sofa. The phone was cradled between my ear and shoulder, angling my neck at an odd slant.

  “I know you wanted my answer today, but I have a few conditions before I say yes or no.”

  I nodded, giving myself time to finish chewing and swallowing before answering. “All right. Read them to me.”

  There was a rustle of pages in a book.

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “One. No video or audio recording at any time.”

  “Deal and agreed,” I mumbled.

  “Good.” I heard the hiss of pen striking the question off her paper. “Two. No humiliating requests.”

  I dropped my half eaten sandwich down on my plate and set my plate down on the coffee table. I rose and began to pace.

  “Define humiliating.”

  She cleared her throat. “No making me walk out of my apartment naked.”

  I chuckled. “Deal.”

  “Three. No getting freaky with animals or kids.”

  My spit caught in my throat, doubling me over as I struggled between laughing and coughing.

  “Deal!” I choked out. “Double deal.”

  “Good.” She paused, possibly to consult her notes. “Four. Are you single? I know you said there were no other women, but that could mean anything.” She waited a full heartbeat before adding, “Did that make sense?”

  I nodded. “Yes, and no, there is no one else.”

  “Five. Is this an exclusive relationship, or are we free to see other people?”

  “I don’t share.” I didn’t attempt to conceal the finality in my decision. “For the time you are with me, you are mine and mine alone and I will extend you the same courtesy.”

  “I can live with that,” she murmured. I heard the scratch of pen on paper. “Six. Are you a criminal?”

  I blinked at that one. “A criminal?”

  “Yeah, have you ever committed a crime that you have, or haven’t been arrested and charged for?”

  “I know what it is, and no, I’m not and no, I haven’t.”

  “Seven. Are you patient?”

  I considered that a moment. “I am controlling and domineering. I like to think I’m fair, but with this, with you, I would be patient.”

  “If I told you I have over two hundred questions on my list?”

  The corner of my mouth lifted. “Do you?”

  “Possibly.”

  I chuckled. “I would be fine with that. I prefer you ask me everything now and get comfortable with me before we go too far and you find this isn’t what you want.”

  “Fair enough. What number were we at?”

  “Eight.”

  “Right.” She cleared her throat. “No inviting your friends over for fun time.”

  Maybe laughing at such a reasonable remark wasn’t the best way to assure someone of your seriousness, but I did.

  “I promise,” I choked out at last. “No fun time for my friends.”

  I heard her chuckle on the other end. “A girl has to cover all her bases.”

  “I completely understand.” I moved to the sofa and dropped into it. I took up my half eaten sandwich and took a bite. I chewed a few times. “Now I have some questions for you,” I said around a mouthful. “Unless you have more conditions?”

  “No, I think we’ve covered the more important ones.”

  “Have you done this before?”

  “No.” She answered so fast, I could have sworn she was on some gameshow.

  “Do you work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “No. Do you? I should have added that to my questions…”

  I chuckled. “No, no children. Are you with someone in any shape or form?”

  “No, my last relationship was four years ago. He was my first and only to date.”

  That perked my interest.

  “Why? Did it end badly?”

  “Um…” She sucked in a deep breath. “Kind of. I told him I wanted more … kink, and he thought it was too much.”

  “What kind of kink?”

  “Nothing crazy, light spanking, maybe minor bondage. I’m not hardcore into that kind of stuff, but as I mentioned before, he was very into missionary.”

  “Mm,” I hummed, remembering all too well. “Do you drink, smoke, or do any sort of drugs?”

  “Occasionally, mostly socially, no, and definitely no. You? I swear I should have let you ask the questions first…”

  I chuckled. “A beer on the weekends, occasionally during social gatherings, but not normally. I used to smoke, but I quit about six years ago and no, no drugs. Never even tried.”

  “When’s the last time you had sex?”

  “Hmm…” I felt myself blushing and was almost glad she wasn’t there to see it. “It’s been a while.”

  “Months or years?”

  “Definitely years.”

  “Why?”

  I looked down at the sandwich still in my hand. “My last relationship ended very badly.”

  “Tell me?”

  I could choose to ignore it, tell her I wouldn’t answer. But honesty was a big part of building trust and she had a right to know why I set the rules the way I did.

  “Her name was Regina,” I began slowly. “I met her in college. She was the one who turned me onto the lifestyle.”

  “You mean…?”

  I drew in a deep breath and held it until my lungs hurt. “Yes.” I blew out the air in a rush. “We were both eighteen, but she had been going to sex clubs since she was sixteen via a fake ID her then boyfriend had given her. She was crazy. Wild and full of life. It was impossible to resist her pull when she got excited about something.

  I knew she was different the first time we had sex. She wanted me to tie her down and spank her. I had never hit a girl in my life and I was … horrified, but a part of me was also intrigued. So, I spanked her, once, lightly on the ass. To my … amazement and teenage delight, she came from that. After that, I got bolder. She t
aught me new things and each one was better than the last. We started going to clubs together and making friends with others who were in the lifestyle. But the deeper we got into it, the more destructive she became. The changes were subtle, but I should have seen them.” I paused long enough to drop my sandwich piece back into the plate, rub the crumbs off my fingers on my thigh and get to my feet. “A few years after college, we moved in together. I loved the idea of having her so close.

  With Regina, there were no hard limits. There were no red lights. She was into anything and everything, the dirtier the better. She had no threshold for pain and I refused to act on the level she needed. I think that was what pushed her to turn to my two best friends, and I let her. I figured if it was the only way she could get what she needed, there was no one I trusted more to give it to her. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough with her. Even between the three of us, she was still hungry for something none of us could give her.

  She left.

  There was no note, or explanation, but we knew why. I went looking for her, but she had disappeared underground, deep into the clubs I refused to go to with her. Two years later, we got news from her sister that they found her body in the sewer. She’d been hung up from the pipes, naked, cut up, stabbed, raped, and beaten to death.”

  “Oh my God!”

  I rubbed a shaky hand over my face. “That was three years ago. I haven’t been with a woman since she left. Not because I loved her, which I did, but because I don’t know if I can trust myself.”

  “Are you still in that lifestyle?”

  “No, and I never will be again.”

  Chapter Seven

  Ali

  I woke up the next morning with a weight settling on my chest. The predawn hour was a faint, white light spilling through the terrace doors and coloring my room a pinkish gold. I sighed and turned my head in the direction of my clock. There was no real reason for it. I knew what time it was. But I stared at the blinking, red numbers and thought about Q and our conversation the night before.

  We’d hung up shortly after his confession about Regina. I could tell from the tone of his voice that talks of her had drained him and I hated that I had pushed him to relive those days. My chest ached with the knowledge that there was nothing I could do but stare at the space that separated us and long to pull him into my arms. Part of me wondered if he would have been upset if I went over, if I just showed up at his door and said screw it to the mystery and the kink and the secrets. But I knew it wouldn’t go over well. If he had wanted me there, he knew he only had to ask.